Boots, beard, belly: I am Father Christmas

Christopher Middleton learns how to perfect the walk, the talk, the twinkle
and the ho-ho-ho at Santa School.

For the most part, society frowns upon a man who temporarily takes off his wedding ring. Except, that is, at Christmas, when he's trying to convince his children he's Santa Claus. Apparently, wearing recognisable hand or neck jewellery is the biggest giveaway in the book when it comes to children rumbling their dad's Father Christmas disguise. Offspring are also very quick off the mark, it seems, when it comes to spotting familiar socks or shoes.

Says who? Says Santa himself, who, from his chilly Snow Room on the seventh and top floor of the Peter Jones department store in London's Sloane Square, is running special "How To Be Father Christmas" classes for dads who want to step into his boots this Yuletide.

The first rule is that your disguise should be not only convincing but impenetrable. This means that on top of boots, hat, beard, full red tunic and trousers (with optional midriff-padding), you can add a pair of spectacles or a white wig. That said, it's not just about what you wear, but how you talk.

"Normal men speak from the chest," booms Father Christmas at a special Daily Telegraph one-to-one tuition session, in advance of the classes proper. "But Santa speaks from the belly. Feet wide apart, soft knees, boots planted firmly on the ground and, with hands held flat on bulging stomach, feel that ho-ho-ho come up from the very core of your being.

"How you move is of crucial importance, too. Remember, Father Christmas has two walks. One is a strong, bold, hauling-sacks-across-the-roof walk. The other is a delicate, soft, gently creeping type of walk: arms lifted, legs raised, heel down followed by toe, advancing stealthily on the tree."

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Nifty footwork is also required should the children stir from sleep in the middle of gift-depositing activities.

"If the little ones wake and ask where their father is, you must tell them at once he is up on the roof, looking after the reindeer for you," advises Santa. "But you must make them promise not to let their father know that they are privy to his secret. Otherwise, the magic will be made less strong."

And why should that matter to the average five year old? "Ah," rumbles Father Christmas with a merry twinkle in his eye. "If the magic is made less strong, then the number of presents next year may be made less large."

This should seal the lips of even the most talkative tot. And, speaking of secrecy, it emerges that fathers can attend post-Santa School at the Peter Jones Dads' Gift Clinic on the same floor, set up in response to the revelation that each Christmas, 30 per cent of women receive "inappropriate" or disappointing gifts from their menfolk.

At the clinic, discreet female "giftologists" not only give men confidential advice on what presents they might get their spouses, but actually accompany them around the store to make those purchases and arrange for expert wrapping-up.

They are also reminded to put their wedding rings back on before they go home. Otherwise, there could be a distinct chilling of the festive spirit.

Kids asking awkward questions on Christmas Eve? Here are some handy replies for flummoxed Father Christmases.

• How do you get around so many houses in one night?

I have a magic hourglass and I make the sand run through more slowly on Christmas Eve.

• Why haven’t you eaten all the mince pies we put out for you?

If I ate all the mince pies at all the houses I visit, I’d be the size of my own grotto.

• Why did the Father Christmas I saw the other day in the department store look nothing like you?

Like any magical entity, I have many different reflections and manifestations. Think of the Harry Potter stories.

• The next Santa School is on Thursday at 7pm in the Snow Room on the seventh floor at Peter Jones, Sloane Square, London SW1. Free admission plus a Santa sack to take away, 020 7730 3434; www.peterjones.co.uk